


In this Darkness (It's You I Hear)

by Kedreeva



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Spark, Alpha!Stiles, Emissary Spark, M/M, Werewolf!Stiles, alpha!Derek, feral!Stiles, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deucalion bites Stiles on the way out of town, and Derek finds him in an unexpected condition....</p>
            </blockquote>





	In this Darkness (It's You I Hear)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrettyGirlBPD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyGirlBPD/gifts).



> One of my commissions for the Sterek Campaign's Wolf Pack Charity Project. This was commissioned by [PrettyGirlBPD](http://archiveofourown.org/users/prettygirlbpd) ([prettygirlbpd](http://prettygirlbpd.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr). Fic spoilers in end note.
> 
> Special thanks to the (many) people who beta read for this, you all made some great improvements. Thank you [Elin](http://firecracker452.tumblr.com), [Maz](http://idkfandomwhatever.tumblr.com), [Broodingsoul](http://broodingsoul.tumblr.com), [foolproofpoem](http://foolproofpoem.tumblr.com), and [theonceandfuturecatlady](http://theonceandfuturecatlady.tumblr.com/).

 

 

* * *

 

            He kept a white-knuckled grasp on the steering wheel, working through every possible variation of what he was going to say when he arrived. _Don't go, you have to stay, we need you, we're pack_... It had all jumbled together in his head in a train wreck of thought since Scott had called twenty minutes earlier to tell him Derek just called to say goodbye. Forever.

            Furious that Derek hadn't bothered to call him, Stiles had called Derek's phone, only to be met with seemingly endless ringing. He'd called six more times until the call went directly to voicemail, at which point Stiles left a particularly nasty message about picking up the phone instead of turning it off, and then got into his Jeep instead.

            Now he was tearing down the road, wobbling between being desperate not to miss Derek's departure and being angry that Derek was departing at all. He couldn't decide what he would do first if he caught Derek still at the loft- ask him to stay or punch him in the jaw for considering leaving them all behind.

            It was more than that, more than just Derek leaving all of them behind, and he knew it. He knew that it was because Derek was leaving _him_ behind, as if everything they'd been through, every time they'd saved one another's lives, every moment Stiles had felt the pull of _connection_ between them didn't matter at all. He was angry and hurt and worried and the most sense he could make of any of it was that he _knew_ he couldn't let Derek leave without saying something about it.

            It couldn't just be _over_ , not without ever having begun.

            He was two blocks away and still at a loss for what he was going to say upon arrival when the dark tangle of figures burst from around the side of the building he was passing. Though he slammed on the brakes, it wasn't fast enough to keep from plowing right into them. The unique, terrible sound of car metal crunching was drowned out only by the wild shriek of pain that cut short as his Jeep wrenched upward atop one of the figures.

            The other rolled out and away from the front of his Jeep, coming to a limp stop on the side of the road, unconscious. Stiles' eyes widened as he realized he recognized the shape, that it was the _twins_ , and that they were in full-on crazy Voltron alpha mode, which meant whatever was still wedged partway under his vehicle was dangerous enough to take them on in a fight.

            Grabbing his bat, Stiles tumbled out of the car and rushed around the nose to see what he'd hit, calling the twins' names as he went. They didn't move, but they didn't separate either; he thought maybe that meant they were still alive. He froze when he got within sight of the other, less-alive looking body.

            It was Deucalion.

            He just stood there, staring, brain stuck in an endless loop of dread. This wasn't supposed to happen; Deucalion was supposed to be gone, not here fighting the dubiously-aligned twins. Not getting hit by Stiles, not crunched up beneath Stiles' Jeep not moving. Not being-

            "Oh god, please nobody be dead," Stiles mumbled, throwing a glance to the still unmoving twins. There was blood everywhere- all over them, all over Deucalion, spattered on the grill of his Jeep. Stiles switched the bat to one hand and leaned over to check Deucalion for any vague sign of life, to see if he was still a threat.

            He just barely caught the slight rise of Deucalion's chest the moment before the wolf spasmed. Stiles started to take a step backward but the alpha werewolf lashed out at his ankles, sending him sprawling on the cement. He was on Stiles in an instant, eyes wild and unseeing, still obviously caught in the fight Stiles had interrupted.

            Stiles saw more than felt the long teeth sink into his shoulder, the claws sinking into his ribs. He knew he shouted, but he couldn't hear it over the ringing in his ears.

            He couldn't hear it over Deucalion _screaming_.

            In the next moment, white light burst behind his closed eyelids and cold flooded through him. A part of him knew that Deucalion had released him, that the wolf had collapsed on the cement beside him, and that both of them were screaming in agony, but it was distant. Everything was white light and cold and the scrabbling sensation in his chest that fell somewhere just short of _being torn apart by rabid wolverines_ on the pain scale.

            Then it was gone, and Stiles had just enough consciousness left to register Deucalion dragging himself upright before the darkness claimed him.

           

* * *

 

            Derek shoved the last article of clothing he owned into the duffle, pointedly not looking at the cell phone on the edge of the bed. He knew that if he turned it on, he would have to clear the missed calls from Stiles. He knew that there would be at least one angry message, and that if he stopped to listen there was a good chance he would feel compelled to call back. He'd want to talk to Stiles, to explain that he had to go away with Cora, and there was a _reason_ he hadn't called Stiles after hanging up with Scott.

            Scowling, he snatched up the phone and held down the power button as though it had personally offended him.

            The phone chimed cheerfully as it booted, and even as the welcome screen cleared, it began to ring. Derek frowned, however, because it wasn't Stiles' number blinking on the screen. It was Aiden's.

            "Yes?" he answered, as evenly as he was able. The twins were half the reason he had to leave; every time he encountered them, all he could think about was the feel of Boyd's blood running down his wrists.

            "Don't hang up," Aiden said quickly, because they weren't unaware of how he felt about them both. "It's Stiles."

            Derek choked down the noise of irritation rising in his throat, unable to believe that Stiles would have gone to _them_ for help in getting Derek's attention. "Aiden, I don't-"

            "He's hurt, Derek," Aiden interrupted, probably guessing where Derek was going. "He- Deucalion came to ask us to leave with him - me and Ethan - and when we said no, he attacked us, and Stiles was- he hit us on the road, and now Duke's gone and Stiles is bleeding all over the road and-"

            "Aiden," Derek said firmly, his belly gone cold with dread. Not any part of that made any sense, except that Stiles was hurt. "Where are you?"

            There was a pause and Derek knew Aiden hadn't even taken stock of where they were and was probably looking for street signs. "Uhm, on 8th just past Oakdale."

            Two blocks away. "I'll be there in a minute," Derek said. "Call Scott."

            "Ethan already is," Aiden said. "Your phone went to voicemail, so-"

            "Just stay there, then," Derek said shortly. "And don't touch him."

            He shoved the phone into his pocket, brushed past Cora with a quiet _stay here_ , and was running full-shift as soon as he was out of the building, his long strides eating ground faster than driving could have. He smelled the taint of blood in the air long before he skirted around a building and emerged on 8th. The Jeep was parked a dozen yards away, with Ethan and Aiden standing guard over an unmoving lump of human.

            "Derek!" Aiden called, stepping away from Stiles as Derek approached. "We thought Duke attacked him, we woke up to him _screaming_ like he was being killed, but-"

            Derek reached Stiles' side and laid a hand over the torn fabric of his shirt, ignoring the twins in favor of examining Stiles himself. There was blood, a lot of blood, but- "No marks," he said.

            "Not one," Ethan confirmed. "I checked."

            He couldn't help the snarl that escaped him, but Aiden raised his hands defensively. "You told me not to touch and I didn't!" he pointed out.

            Reaching out, Derek pulled aside the fabric, double checking for any sign of injury and finding _nothing_. There was no way even a werewolf could heal an alpha bite that quickly, which meant something else was going on. He could hear Stiles' heart beating strong and steady, but his entire body was slack and there was more than enough blood to indicate serious injury. He took a deep breath and let it out, smoothing one palm over Stiles' cheek and silently begging him to open his eyes.

            He knew better.

            "Call Scott back," Derek said. He could take Stiles to the hospital, but he wasn't sure what they would do for him, and if Deucalion had done something to him, he could pose a threat there. Peter was still lurking around the loft, and Derek had no desire to expose a helpless Stiles to him, so the safest place would be- "Tell him to meet me at Stiles' house, and then both of you just go home."

            He could almost feel the look they exchanged behind his back as he scooped Stiles into his arms and began to move him to the Jeep.

            "But we can-" Ethan began.

            "You've done what you can," Derek told them sharply. He still wasn't over the damage they'd wreaked upon his life, and wasn't ready to allow them to spend the night around Stiles while the human was in a vulnerable state. "Go home."

            He closed the passenger side door after arranging Stiles to sit, and then turned around to face them. Both Aiden and Ethan were scowling, but he could tell that they were going to listen; Ethan was already pulling out his phone to dial Scott back. As he passed by Aiden, he felt the other wolf's hand on his arm, halting him. He glanced over, lip curling the tiniest bit at the intrusion on his personal space.

            Aiden let him go, searching his eyes for a moment. "I don't know if we're just freaked out or what, but you should know... something changed in him. Ethan feels it too. I can't _explain_ it, but I just... something is weird. Don't take this the wrong way, but he feels _connected_ to us. It wasn't like that before, Derek. He didn't feel like pack."

            When he glanced over, Ethan nodded confirmation, and Derek sighed. He'd been hoping Stiles was just unconscious - just normal, regular, every-day unconscious - but that was confirmation enough to mean it wasn't going to be that easy.  Even if the twins couldn't tell him what it was, something supernatural was going on, something Deucalion had caused.

            The drive to Stiles' house was uneventful, which really only allowed Derek to sink further and further into panic every time the rumble of the engine obscured Stiles' heartbeat. Aiden's words rattled around in his head, making him feel sick as he worried that Deucalion might have somehow bound Stiles to the twins or to himself. He just wanted Stiles to wake up.

            Scott called, but Derek left his phone in his pocket, not really sure what he would say. It didn't matter; Scott was waiting for them in the driveway when Derek pulled in, and he opened and closed all of the doors in Derek's path as he brought Stiles into the house. Derek didn't answer any of the questions until he'd set Stiles down on the couch.

            "I know what you know, Scott," he said when he straightened. "Aiden called and said they'd gotten into a fight with Deucalion, and Stiles ran them all over with his Jeep. Duke ran, and the other two stayed with Stiles until I got there."

            "They didn't come with you?" Scott demanded, kneeling down beside his best friend.

            "There's nothing they can do," Derek said. "They didn't know what Deucalion did, either. But you know someone who might."

            "Deaton?" Scott asked, as he reached out to lay one hand on Stiles' forehead.

            As his fingers made contact, Stiles roused, a snarl ripping from his throat as he lunged for Scott. Derek moved forward as Scott toppled backward to avoid getting bit. They both stared wide-eyed at Stiles as he snapped and clawed trying to get past Derek to get to Scott, his eyes a brilliant shade of crimson.

            "Dude!" Scott exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. Derek could smell the panic on him; neither of them could have possibly expected _this_. "He's- he's an alpha."

            Derek grunted, straining against Stiles' powerful struggles, and realized that Scott was right, that Deucalion must have bitten him after all. There was no way Derek would have been able to stand up to him at full alpha power, but Stiles was still changing. He was still weak from his body making the shift, changing species, becoming something Other.

            "Call Deaton," Derek gritted out, shoving Stiles back down on the couch.

            If it were someone else going through the shift, Derek thought that maybe Scott would have argued, that maybe he would have enough presence of mind to question Derek like he always did, but this was Stiles, and Scott was unprepared.

            The moment Scott was out of the room, Stiles slumped against Derek's hold, panting against his shoulder. The small, whining noises escaping his throat sounded _feral_ in a way Derek hadn't heard in ages. However, he wasn't trying to kill Derek, so Derek counted that as an improvement to the moments prior, and knelt at Stiles' side to wait.

            In the kitchen, Scott was talking in low tones with Deaton. Derek tuned him out because he already knew about the fight, the crash, the scenario the twins had described to him. He wasn't sure there was going to be anything the vet could do to help; he hadn't been exactly forthcoming with information in the past.

            The only reason he knew Scott had returned was because Stiles stirred, lips peeled back from long teeth a moment before Scott's cell landed on the couch next to Derek. "Your turn," he said before disappearing back into the kitchen.

            "Hello?" Derek asked, holding the phone to his ear.

            "Did he get bitten?" Deaton demanded, no greeting.

            "There's no marks on him," Derek said. "A lot of blood, but he's... shifting."

            "Completely?" Deaton asked. "He's shifting completely?"

            Derek looked down at the grumbling, now-human boy under his palm. "Partial shifts. He's going through the change," Derek told him. The scent of alien wolf hung heavy in the air now. Gently, he poked a finger through the holes in the shoulder of Stiles' shirt. "I've never seen anyone heal a bite that fast, but he's definitely turning."

            "He can't _turn_ ," Deaton said heavily, like a resignation.

            Derek bristled at the tone. "What do you mean he can't turn? I'm looking right at him, and he's turning."

            "He has an emissary spark," Deaton said, as if it explained everything. When Derek didn't make any indication that anything at all was clearer, Deaton sighed. "Why do you think werewolves allow emissaries into their packs? Why would they teach humans their ways, tell them their secrets, rely on their advice? We can't be turned; the bite is always fatal."

            Scott squawked from the kitchen and appeared in the doorway. Stiles lay still, unconscious again, and Derek shot Scott a look. "I've-" He swallowed down the sour taste of his past, forcing his next words past the lump in his throat. "I've seen the bite kill. It wasn't like this."

            "Because he's partial-shifting?" Deaton asked. "Normally the bite takes a day or two to set in, sometimes more, but because of the power already within an emissary, because of their spark, the change happens quickly- _too_ quickly. It'll drain his energy until he dies."

            Before Deaton had even finished, Stiles groaned and heaved upright just far enough to retch a mouthful of sticky, black blood onto the floor between Derek's knees. Derek knew that reaction; he'd been through it himself when he'd taken one of Kate Argent's wolfsbane bullets. It was a sign that a wolf's body was trying to purge itself of a poison. It was a sign that it was failing.

            "There's got to be something we can do," Derek said fiercely. "His body is fighting it; he's retching up black blood."

            "What?" Deaton asked, surprised. "That's... atypical. He shouldn't be."

           "Yeah, well, he never does anything he's supposed to be doing," Derek said sourly. "What matters is that he's fighting, and that means we've got to fight too. I'm going to take him to my loft and see if Peter can-"

            "Oh no you're not," Scott interrupted, ready to move fully into the room. Stiles hissed, claws flexing out from the flesh of his fingertips, though his eyes remained closed. He groaned in pain and curled in on himself. Scott settled back against the doorframe. "You're not taking him anywhere near Peter."

            "It's not my first choice either, but I've still got full moon restraints capable of withstanding werewolves, and I really don't think the sheriff will appreciate coming home to find... to find..." Instead of trying to explain, he motioned broadly at Stiles' prone, bloody form, wavering vaguely in and out of partial shifts. "This. And Peter may know something. If you've got a better idea, I'm all ears."

            "No," Scott admitted, but grudgingly. "But I'm coming over too."

            "I agree that this sounds like our best course of action for the moment," Deaton said. "You said he was reacting to your presence, Scott?"

            "Badly," Scott said, and Derek relayed.

            "He's acting like a challenged alpha," Derek told him. "Like he's going to fight Scott. And Deaton; his eyes were red."

            "Get him isolated quickly, then, Derek," Deaton advised. "Scott, come to me. We'll try to find something which can help him."

            Derek looked to Scott, who nodded confirmation that he'd heard. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and then hesitated, glancing back at Stiles. He exchanged a worried look with Derek, took a deep breath, and was gone.

           

* * *

 

            The heavy metal clacked shut around Stiles' wrist and Derek twisted the key in the locking mechanism. It was the last of the bindings needed to keep Stiles from disappearing into the wilds of Beacon Hills to terrify the denizens. The ease with which he had managed to apply them all surprised him. Stiles had barely moved at all, occasionally slurring incoherent noises at him. He'd begun to sound more animal than human, and that terrified something deep inside of Derek; he'd seen feral werewolves before.

            He'd never heard of anyone that had come back around.

            So he talked. He told Stiles about the changes he could expect to go through, and how to handle them. He talked about his own shift, and the difference between his beta shift and his alpha shift, and somewhere along the thread of one-sided conversation, he told Stiles about his mom and his sister and their beautiful, powerful wolf forms. He wasn't even sure what he was saying, after a while, he just knew it could be the only thing tethering Stiles to the shreds of his sanity.

            The sound of the door drawing open roused Derek from the stupor he'd fallen into while talking. He could hear Cora talking to Peter in low tones, telling him that he was only being allowed back into the loft on the chance that he knew something and that she'd rip his throat out if he tried anything. The sentiment was nice, but they needed him to come see Stiles, tricks or not.

            Derek hackled when Peter appeared in the doorway, but he didn't bother getting up because Peter stopped dead, staring. "He was bitten," Derek said tiredly when Peter looked to him. "Deucalion bit him."

            It startled everyone, including the hazy-looking Stiles, when Peter just started _laughing_. Incredulous, insane laughter. "He bit an _emissary_?" Peter gasped, looking between Derek and Stiles. "He didn't- are you kidding me? I offered him the bite once, but only to see what he'd do. Practically a joke! Even I-"

            "This isn't a _joke_ ," Cora snapped angrily, cutting him off and sobering him to a degree.

            "Deaton says he's dying," Derek said. "That the change will go too fast because of his spark's energy."

            "He's right," Peter confirmed. "But for the wrong _reasons_. It's not _his_ spark that's the problem."

            Derek scrambled out of Peter's way as he came into the room and crouched in front of Stiles. The chains rattled as Stiles reared backward, claws snapping forward, teeth gnashing, but Peter waited just out of reach until he stopped. When Stiles had settled into panting, glaring mutely at him, Peter finally reached forward and grabbed his jaw, looking him in the eyes.

            "It's not _his_ spark," he murmured reverently, as if admiring a particularly beautiful piece of craftsmanship. "It's _Deucalion's_ spark."

            "What do you mean?" Derek asked sharply. Peter was being as obtuse as usual and this was _not_ the time, not with so much on the line. "Why would his- are you telling me Stiles has his spark? The twins said Deucalion got away; Stiles didn't kill him."

            "Didn't have to," Peter said, releasing Stiles and taking a quick step back. He wiped his hand on his jeans and shook his head. "Why do you think alphas don't bite emissaries? Why we let them into our packs as humans instead of turning them?"

            Both Derek and Cora gave him blank looks, and Peter sighed.

            "The change happens too quickly because there's so much energy available. A human body can't handle it, can't heal through it," Peter said deliberately, as if explaining to children. "The change kicks in before the healing ability develops."

            "He's healing," Cora said, wiggling the fingers of her hand to indicate that the claws tearing in and out of Stiles' skin weren't staying bloody.

            "Trying to," Derek corrected, nodding toward the sticky, black mess on part of the floor. "It's not working."

            "It is," Peter interjected. At the hopeful looks both Derek and Cora turned to him, Peter held up both hands in surrender and explained quickly. "Not fast enough. The problem is too much energy and not enough healing. To compensate, when an emissary is bitten, their spark quite literally rips out the spark of the alpha in order to heal itself, like what the two of you did to heal Cora. Except in this case, all that happens is the amount of energy doubles, and accelerates the change even more."

            "So what you're saying is..." Cora started, looking over to Derek, as if speaking the words aloud would call forth his fate.

            "He's going to die," Derek finished, feeling as if the breath had been punched out of him.

            Peter didn't have to say a word- Derek knew he was right. It was what the twins had been talking about when they called him _pack_ ; he'd taken Deucalion's spark to heal himself, and they had felt its presence. He closed his eyes, fighting off the sickening, cold feeling settling in his gut.

            "How long?" Derek asked.

            "We should leave you alone," Peter said quietly. If Derek didn't know him better, he'd think Peter actually _cared_ about Stiles, cared that they were about to lose him. "To say goodbye."

            Derek swallowed, throat dry as he stared helplessly at Stiles.

            _Alone._

           The word rattled around his skull, knocking into all the other losses in his life, all the people that had died around him. Desperation choked at him to think that this time it was Stiles. That it _would_ be Stiles if they couldn't help him, that they would be too late, and he would _die right in front of Derek_.

            "When the moment comes," Peter said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "You should make it swift. You'd be an alpha again."

            Derek snarled, on his feet in an instant as Cora growled and shoved Peter out of the bathroom and toward the exit. "Get out!" he snapped, though he didn't cross the threshold of the room to follow them. No one was going to _kill_ Stiles.

            Through the haze of fury, he heard Cora tell him they would call the others to see if they could help look for an answer, heard their footsteps as they retreated, and the slam of the door as they left. None of it truly registered as he sunk to the floor in front of Stiles, drained. He spent long moments calming himself down, watching Stiles pant for breath, one eye red and the other the rich, amber-brown color Derek had come to love.

            "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I should have been there to protect you."

            Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek, eyes still foggy. His lips peeled back from his teeth for a moment before he sunk back into stupor. Derek's heart twisted up into his throat when Stiles' heartbeat weakened. He rested his head back against the tile wall, listening for Stiles' heartbeat to pick up to panic speeds once more.

            Maybe that's how it would happen, he thought bleakly. Maybe his heart would just give out while Derek watched. When he brought the body to the hospital, they would just rule it a heart attack and write his name in the record books and that would be it.

            The end to a story that hadn't gotten a chance to truly begin.

            A moment later, the howling began.

 

* * *

 

            Darkness.

            Stiles' muscles felt like they were on fire, burning, liquid heat as they shifted and tore and reformed from moment to moment. Hours ago his hands had gone numb, his nail-beds shredded beyond repairing every time the claws extended and retracted. His voice had given out, throat too raw to keep howling out the pain.

            Deep inside, somewhere in the darkness eating away at him, he could feel the shift. He could feel the wolf, could feel the spark and whatever hellish, tattered thing his spark had seized hold of. Whatever it was, its fury was scalding, an uncontrollable inferno that tore around inside of him, dragging him away from the light over and over and over until he didn't have the strength to fight it.

            In the distance there was a voice, murmuring and insistent, anchoring him to another place, a place without the pain and anger.

            He wished it would go away, let him die.

 

* * *

 

            Stiles' lip curled every time Derek shifted position in the tub, but he made no move to snap at Derek anymore. He just sat limply with the shackles in his lap, eyes vacant. Around six, a little over half an hour ago, his voice had given out, drenching the small bathroom in silence once again.

            For a while, it had helped when Derek had begun to talk to Stiles again. Just hearing his voice had seemed to calm him some. His howling had begun to taper off as Derek told him that they'd had to secure him so he couldn't hurt himself or others, and how the restraints had been used by his family for decades, maybe centuries, and how he'd used them as a kid and how Cora was lucky she hadn't been in them when- well.

            He changed topics after that, to tell Stiles about how hard it was for him when he first took on an alpha spark, and how he wasn't surprised that it was hard on Stiles, going right from human to alpha, but that he had to fight through it.

            It wasn't until Stiles made a soft, concerned whine, the most feral noise he'd made yet, that Derek realized he'd stopped talking, couldn't squeeze the words past the lump in his throat that threatened to strangle him. He had wiped at his stinging eyes and clambered to his feet to get some distance, try to breathe.

            The first phone call came around eight, six hours after he'd been bitten. Cora had arrived with Allison and Lydia but sans Peter, though his explanation had set them on the right path. Deaton told him that Morrell had finally called him back and brought over the journal of an emissary she'd been researching. Scott took the phone so Deaton could go back to reading, and explained that not a lot of the book was making sense yet but it seemed like a good lead.

           Derek updated Scott on Stiles' condition, telling them that he'd torn his wrists open again and again on the metal cuffs, blood streaking over his skin, soaking into his hoodie. Derek had shoved washcloths in around the cuffs as best as he could around Stiles trying to take his hands off with gnashing teeth.

            By the third time Scott had asked the same question, Derek realized Scott just didn't want to hang up because hanging up meant disconnecting from the only link he had to his best friend at the moment.

            "He's asleep," Derek said quietly. "He's made a war zone out of my bathroom, and if I had neighbors they would have called the cops sixteen times last night because of all the howling, but he's asleep now. The most you can do right now is keep hunting for an answer."

            A few silent beats passed and then: "Thanks, man. We'll call back if we find anything. Take care of him."

            "I will."

            It was a lie, and they both knew it. There was very little Derek could do in this situation. He couldn't heal Stiles. He couldn't slow the transformation. He couldn't even talk Stiles back to sanity so that he could try to help them save him. All he could do - all he _had_ done - was watch him try to tear himself to pieces and take away what pain he could in the moments Stiles lost consciousness.

            He was so absorbed in those thoughts that he nearly missed the next phone call over an hour later.

            "We may have a way to help," Deaton said without preamble.

            Derek didn't move from where he lay in the tub. He'd been laying there since the last call, but now he sat up, drawing Stiles' weak attention. "What way?" he croaked tiredly. The phone crackled as it traded hands.

            "Peter says the reason emissaries die is because they take the alpha's spark; but we think we can take it back," Scott said. "Well... _we_ can't. But you might be able to, Derek."

            "Kill him?" Derek breathed. He could do a lot of things- killing Stiles still wasn't one of them. He didn't think he would even be capable of letting anyone else do it, either.

            "No," Scott said immediately, and relief washed through Derek. "You'd have to get him to give it to you."

            "He won't," Derek told him. "I told you he's barely conscious, and he's not-"

            "We know," Scott interrupted. "We think that's an affect of Deucalion's spark. The journal says that sometimes an alpha spark becomes _suffused_ with the emotions of the previous alpha. Deucalion was super angry, right?"

            "Right," Derek said slowly.

            "Well, it also says that emissaries used to be able to cleanse the emotions," Scott said. "It was one of their jobs. So if Deaton can cleanse the spark... maybe he'll calm down and you can get him to give it to you. It might slow down the change."

            " _Can_ he cleanse it?" Derek demanded.

            "We don't know," Scott said. "We're on our way over now to find out."

            True to their word, they showed up almost fifteen minutes later. While Derek lead them to the bathroom, Scott explained that they had left the others behind to research, in case this didn't work. Melissa had volunteered to break the news to Stiles' father when he got off shift, and Scott warned that they would be on their way soon. He trailed off talking when they reached the entryway of the bathroom.

            This time, when Scott entered the room, Stiles didn't even stir. There was blood, red and black both, plastered into his hair, on his skin, coating the floor. Some of his fingers had claws, some did not. The open wounds around his wrists were visible around the edges of the washcloths Derek had applied.

            "It's not keeping him human," Scott said quietly, looking between Derek and Deaton as if they should have the answer. "The pain?"

            Derek shook his head, but it was Deaton who answered. "Pain is one of the things that slows a normal transformation. His body must be ignoring the signals."

            "Shock," Derek added as he took a seat on the edge of the tub. "I'd be surprised if he felt anything at this point."

            He watched as Deaton knelt in front of Stiles, calling his name. Stiles gave no indication that he heard, just sitting limply up against the wall. If Derek hadn't been able to hear his heart or the rasping breaths he drew every couple of seconds, he might have thought Stiles was dead. He wasn't far from it.

            Reaching out, Deaton lay his hands on either side of Stiles' face and lifted it slightly. He closed his eyes and everyone sat in tense silence, not sure what to expect. After a moment, Stiles stirred and opened his eyes to look at Deaton. He didn't struggle or snap, just stared, like he wasn't sure where he was or who sat in front of him or what any of them were doing.

            Long moments passed in silence, Derek and Scott both holding their breath as they waited for some indication that it was at least going well. There were no flashing lights, no screams of pain. There was nothing at all until Deaton sagged back at the same time as Stiles went completely limp in his hands. Scott rushed forward and caught him, helping him to his feet as he stumbled upright.

            "Did it work?" Derek demanded at the same time as Scott. Deaton looked over at him, foggy and disoriented.

            "I don't know," Deaton groaned, closing his eyes tightly shut. "He's so weak right now, it was difficult to tell anything at all."

            "Derek, man," Scott said urgently. "You gotta wake him up. You've gotta get that spark away from him before-"

            "Yeah," Derek said quickly, dropping to the ground in front of Stiles. He seized Stiles' face in his hands, the same way Detaon had. "Stiles! Open your eyes, Stiles."

            A faint increase in Stiles' heartbeat gave him hope a moment before Stiles blearily opened his eyes. They were red, both of them. "Derek?" Stiles' voice cracked, raw and worn still from the howling.

            "Yeah," Derek assured him, almost frantic, relief burning through him at hearing Stiles speak a word, any word, give any indication that he hadn't been lost to becoming feral. Stiles' head listed to one side as his eyes started to close, and Derek held him tighter. "Stiles! Hey, stay with me, come on, you can do this."

            "What _happened_?" Stiles managed to croak, eyes opening again to lock onto Derek's. "Everything h-hurts." The last word melted into a whine of pain and he squeezed his eyes shut.

            "Deucalion bit you," Derek said carefully, trying to stress exactly how important it was that Stiles listen to him. "Deaton thinks that you- that somehow you tore out Deucalion's alpha spark."

            Stiles' nose wrinkled, his body tensing as he fought the change. Derek could almost see him scraping away at his memory, trying to find anything that resembled the situation. "Am I dying?" he asked at last, throat catching on the words.

            "Yes," Derek said honestly, moving Stiles' face in his hands when Stiles tried to curl up away from him. "No, look at me Stiles," He waited until Stiles opened his eyes, now brown, searching for an answer. "Look at me. I'm not gonna let that happen, okay? I'm not going to let you die. Not like this. But I need your help."

            Stiles took a few deep breaths, glancing to where Scott and Deaton were watching, waiting tensely. "Okay," Stiles said when his voice was steady. "What do I do?"

            "You've got too much energy inside of you right now. You're changing too fast," Derek said slowly, making sure Stiles understood. "You've got to give up some of it. You have to let go of the alpha spark you took from Deucalion."

            "How?" Stiles breathed, face screwing up. He flexed in Derek's hands, eyes going red, claws extending from his fingertips.

            "Let go," Derek said, scooting closer, holding on tighter, until Stiles sagged again. "Find the power you're holding onto inside, and let go of it."

            Stiles dragged in deep, heaving breaths, eyes sliding closed. Derek waited a few seconds before closing his as well, pushing himself to feel his palms against Stiles' jaw, to feel the clammy skin, the beat of his heart, the pulse of his power. He could feel it, the same as he had felt Peter's power the moment before he had ripped it from Peter's dying body. There was no ripping this time. He could sense Stiles prying it free from within him, shoving it toward Derek.

            As soon as it was free, Derek took it, wrenching a sob from Stiles. Derek's veins blackened as power surged through him, threading through his being, latching on the same way Peter's spark had done a year ago. The transfer was familiar, like when he had healed Cora, but in reverse. He opened his eyes, now changed from blue to brilliant red, and let out his breath.

            Stiles went limp in his grasp.

                       

* * *

 

            When sound finally began to filter through the emptiness, pain came with it. Stiles' head was pounding, his mouth was dry, and it felt like he'd run three marathons back-to-back. Where his wrists touched the metal cuffs his skin was raw and tender, rendering him unwilling to move beyond lolling his head back and cracking his eyes open.

            "Finally," Derek said from where the lay in the tub. He sounded as wrecked as Stiles felt, though the familiar hint of sarcasm was comforting.

            "Where's Scott?" Stiles asked, rather than rise to the bait. "Where's my dad?"

            "It's cold, so Scott went to warm up your Jeep," Derek said. "Your dad's waiting at home."

            "Does he know?" Stiles asked, sitting up a little straighter. The shackles clacked when he moved his hands, and he looked down at them.

            He watched as Derek levered out of the tub and held out a hand. "Melissa told him," he said slowly.

            Stiles didn't flinch away, couldn't even muster the strength to _whimper_ , as Derek lifted one manacle and then the other, unlocking the latch on each. After detaching them from the wall, Derek dumped them unceremoniously into the sink, and disappeared.

            It occurred to Stiles to wonder where Derek was going, but a moment later he returned with a glass of water and a sleeve of crackers. He felt sick just looking at them, but he let Derek pass him crackers to eat one at a time, until the sleeve was half empty and the water was gone twice over. It didn't take long; Stiles was a lot hungrier than he'd thought.

            They didn't say a word the entire time, so when Derek finally spoke, it startled Stiles again. "I'll get you a change of clothes," he said quietly, sounding exhausted as he twisted the sleeve of crackers closed and set them on the counter. It was so _clinical_. So _businesslike_.  "You should shower. Don't worry about the mess, just leave everything when you're done."

            "Thank you," Stiles managed, flushing as he realized it really was a mess in the bathroom. _He_ was a mess. "I'm sorry."

            "It's not your fault," Derek told him. It sounded like it hurt to say, and Stiles wondered how many times Derek had heard that phrase in his life. He wondered if it was as hard for Derek to believe as it was for Stiles in that moment. "Scott should be back in a minute."

            Stiles groaned as he clambered to his feet. "I feel like I was run over by a freight train," he muttered. He thought he saw a smile twitch at the corner of Derek's lip, but then the door closed and he was left alone.

            With the manacles gone, his wrists began healing, the skin knitting slowly, painfully together, growing in new. He gingerly stripped out of his soiled clothing, throwing them all into the waste basket. There was an amount of blood and grime that he could wash out of clothing, an amount of stitching he could do to save clothing that had been torn, but this was not that amount.

            His shower was lukewarm at best, though it felt scalding against his raw skin and numb limbs. He scrubbed clean as quickly as he could, only rinsing out his hair and promising himself a better shower when he was at his own house. True to his word, Derek dropped off boxers, a soft, old t-shirt, and a clean pair of sweatpants. Stiles was grateful all of it was loose fitting.

            When he finally exited the bathroom, he found Derek and Scott sitting in the main area of the loft. Scott popped up upon seeing him, and then froze. "You okay?"

            "I don't know," Stiles said, not taking his eyes off of Derek. For a few moments, Stiles wasn't sure what to _do_. Derek's presence had changed so tangibly that Stiles could feel it from across the room. He wasn't just _Derek_ , the other werewolf in town... he was Derek, Stiles' alpha. He was _pack_ and _home_ and it was enough to make Stiles dizzy.

            "Your dad will be worried," Derek said, breaking the silence. He didn't look away, either.

            A shiver coursed through Stiles; he could hear the _order_ in the words, even if Derek hadn't expressly given one. Resistance flared up in him. "Can you give us a minute?" he asked Scott. "I'll be right down."

            Scott glanced dubiously between the two of them, but whatever was going on, Stiles knew he knew that tone of voice. "Okay," he said. "If you're not down in five minutes, I'm coming back."

            Stiles nodded and listened to him leave, taking a moment to even out his own breathing before he spoke. "You're my alpha, now, aren't you..." he said, more a conclusion than a question.

            "Yes," Derek said. He'd clearly known it would happen- there was not a hint of surprise to the word.

            "So you can order me around?" Stiles asked.

            For a few tense seconds, Derek just stared thoughtfully at him, until Stiles was just about ready to walk away and join Scott on the ground. Then Derek scooted over a little on the couch and then fell still. He didn't say a word, just waited, and although he hesitated, Stiles took the obvious invitation.

            As soon as he was seated, Derek leaned just close enough for their shoulders to touch. A cool calmness rushed through Stiles at the contact, and he relaxed, eyes slipping closed. It felt like he could finally _breathe_.

            "I wouldn't," Derek admitted, so soft that Stiles would have missed it before the change. "I wouldn't _order you around_."

            "That would be new," Stiles groused, glancing over. He just barely caught the ghost of a smile on Derek's lips.

            With that, they fell into silence, shoulders pressed together. Stiles wouldn't admit it aloud, but it felt _good_ \- better than he was expecting - to sit that close to his alpha. It should have been weird; a day ago it would have been unimaginable, but it just felt _right._ Stiles wondered, as the seconds ticked down to when he would have to go join Scott downstairs, if it felt the same for Derek. If it felt the same for Scott and Isaac, if it had felt the same for Erica and Boyd.

            "You should go," Derek said, not meeting his eyes. "Before Scott comes back."

            A part of him didn't want to go- not because he didn't want to go home or because he didn't want to see his father or his friends but... they would take him away from Derek, Stiles thought. They would take him home, and Derek would leave for New York again because he didn't have to babysit Stiles anymore. He would leave, and Stiles would be stuck here and this feeling of _right_ would vanish and-

            -and some of his desperation must have shown on his face, because Derek touched his hand to draw his attention back. "Stiles, look at me." Stiles met his eyes, and Derek nodded. "No one's going to make you do anything. If you need more time, you can take it."

            "I should go home," Stiles said slowly.

            "Okay," Derek said, giving his hand a squeeze before releasing it. "And, when you're _ready,_ " he said at last, in the same voice people used when they were trying not to scare off a wild animal. "I can give you back the alpha spark I took."

            Stiles jerked upright at the mention of the spark, color draining from his face. "No," he blurted out, the word tainted with desperation. He didn't want to go back. He didn't want to fight that power again. "No, you... I don't want it. I-"

            The knock on the door interrupted whatever else Stiles had to say on the subject, and then Scott was hauling open the door. "You okay, dude?" he asked, under his breath.

            "Fine," Stiles lied, and realized how ridiculously easy it was to hear his own heartbeat change. "I've been better," he amended.

            "Your heart was racing," Scott said in a rush. "I thought-"

            Stiles cracked a smile at the rush of affection at Scott's concern. "No, I'm fine."

            "Okay." He could _smell_ the relief on Scott at the words. "Okay. Your dad's waiting," he said. "I told him we were on our way."

            "Okay," Stiles said. He glanced to Derek, but Derek just waved him out, not quite looking at him. It made Stiles want to howl, but he just clamped his mouth shut, and followed Scott out the door. Just before closing the door, Stiles made Derek promise not to leave for a few days, just in case they needed him. He blamed it on his exhaustion that _in case they need you_ sounded an awful lot like _in case I need you_.

            The drive was quiet. Stiles sat in the passenger seat with his phone clutched in his hand, unable to find the will to call his father. It would be easier to face him, to show him the changes. Scott didn't seem inclined to press the subject or ask questions, which was just as well, because Stiles didn't know what he would say. If he started talking about what happened, he would have to explain why he was out there in the middle of the night, and he just... couldn't.

            But the silence was _oppressive_ , and Stiles caved to the demand for noise first.

            "I don't remember a lot," he said, out of nowhere. Scott looked over, but didn't comment. "I sort of remember Deucalion biting me. I remember... someone talking. I remember the anger I felt. How much it all _hurt_." It was not his proudest moment, but he would do it again in a heartbeat.

            "Deaton thinks Deucalion knew," Scott said. "That it would kill you."

            "I don't think so," Stiles said, resting his temple against the cool glass of the window. "I ran him over and he lashed out when he woke up. I don't think he even realized it was me."

            Scott glanced over. "Peter told us your emissary spark tore out Deucalion's spark to try to heal itself."

            Stiles processed that for a couple of heartbeats before letting out a sharp bark of laughter. "You're telling me I ripped out an alpha werewolf's power source and used it as a- a supernatural _bandaid_?"

            Scott's laughter eased the last of the tension between them. "You tried to," he said. "But apparently that's a bad idea. It just made you change faster. So what are you gonna do now?"

            "Do?" Stiles echoed.

            Glancing over, Scott shrugged. "Yeah, man. You're a werewolf now. You've joined the werewolf club."

            Groaning, Stiles closed his eyes. "A pack," he said softly, and felt the way Scott stiffened as he, too, realized what it meant. Stiles was going to have to choose a pack, choose an alpha. The dynamics between them were going to change, no matter what he did. Until now they had operated so closely as equals, despite the difference in species, that the idea of becoming alpha-beta seemed...

            "You were supposed to be an emissary. _My_ emissary..." Scott breathed. They were supposed to be a part of the same pack, but not like this. Stiles swallowed the sick feeling at the realization that becoming an emissary was probably a closed road to him now.

            "I could be your beta," Stiles said softly. The words felt alien. "Would that mean you'd have the ability to tell me what to do?"

            Scott smiled weakly. "I had that before," he said.

            Stiles snorted but couldn't hide his smile. "I'm talking the important stuff," he clarified, trying to lighten the heavy mood. "You could totally cheat at video games."

            A short burst of laughter escaped Scott at that, and Stiles' smile grew because in that moment, he knew. It didn't matter where he went or whose pack he belonged to or if he was an alpha or a beta or an omega. It didn't matter if he was human or werewolf or emissary. None of it mattered; Scott would always be here for him, always. They would _always_ be best friends.

            After that, they lapsed into silence, but this time it was easy, even companionable. Stiles watched the road, watched the houses as they passed until they became familiar. His phone never rang but when they pulled into his driveway, his dad's car was in the garage and Melissa's car was in the street. He knew he was going to have a lot of explaining to do when he got inside, none of which he wanted to do.

            "You'll be okay," Scott told him, as if he could read his mind. Stiles looked over, and Scott smiled. "At least you told him about all this stuff before you got bit, right?"

            "Yeah..." Stiles said, unconvinced. "He's going to be mad. He's going to want to know what I was doing out there in the first place, since I'm technically still grounded for not telling him about werewolves from the start."

            "What _were_ you doing out there?" Scott asked softly.

            Stiles let out a heavy breath, leaning back in the seat and staring into the dark garage. He was surprised it took Scott so long to ask. "Going to see Derek."

            "Obviously," Scott said dryly. "But I told you he was leaving."

            "Yeah, that's just it, Scott," Stiles said. "He was _leaving_. He turns up, and he goes through all this shit with us, and we're _finally_ coming out the other side of it, and he just- how can he just _leave_?"

            "There's a lot of bad stuff for him here," Scott guessed.

            "Yeah, well," Stiles said, like that was a good enough counter to the argument. Then he sighed, opened the door, and hesitated. He knew that if he said what he wanted, Scott would guess, he would _know_ that Stiles was looking at Derek as more than a potential friend, but if anyone deserved to know, it was Scott. "I just thought... you know, maybe I could give him something good to stay for. But I guess I kind of fucked that up."

            "You're not a bad memory," Scott told him, unbuckling his belt and getting out of the car to follow Stiles toward the house. Scott touched his arm before he could open the front door. When Stiles turned to look, Scott shrugged. "You know... he's still here. Whatever the reason, he hasn't left yet. That's something."

            "Yeah," Stiles conceded. It was something, he just didn't know _what_.

  

* * *

 

            It had taken several hours and twice as many explanations before his father calmed down enough to accept that there was no _going back_ for Stiles. They'd had to set it aside for later when Stiles started trailing off in mid-sentence, practically falling asleep. Scott and Melissa had come back that night to check on them and to provide support all around, something Stiles knew he would be eternally grateful for. They'd even managed to bring over something healthy to share for dinner.

            Melissa had taken his father aside to explain to him the finer points of having a werewolf child, and Scott and herded him upstairs to practice shifting and control now that he'd had rest. His healing had kicked in while he slept, which helped, but it didn't take long for Stiles to regret having pranked Scott while he was going through the change. It was more difficult than he'd imagined, keeping emotions in check, keeping his claws in when they wanted out so badly. Scott kept telling him to find an anchor, but all Stiles could think was that it felt like drowning and the last thing he wanted was to anchor to the bottom.

            Eventually, though, Melissa had lead his father up the stairs and into the room and he sat on the edge of Stiles' bed with him. When he covered Stiles' trembling hands with his own, everything seemed _clearer_ somehow. Easier, less chaotic. In a sea of uncertain control, his father held him steady, and Stiles found the meaning of the word _anchor_.

            Now, it had been a few days since he'd seen Derek, since Scott had taken him home and he'd been caught up in trying to safely control his shifts. He knew he had to go back, had to tie up the one loose end left- Derek.

            The drive to the loft was uneventful this time, though Stiles kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel the entire way _just in case_. He put the Jeep - freshly back from the body shop after having the front fender fixed from the last drive to Derek's house - into park, turned off the engine, and then sat with the doors closed.

            After checking and rechecking his control, assuring himself that he could do this, he opened the door and made his way up to the loft. He knew Derek would hear him coming. The elevator up clanked and groaned the entire way. He wondered if Derek would come out even if he didn't knock, even if he turned around and went right back down to the ground floor.

            The sound of his knuckles rapping on the metal door echoed around the hall. Maybe he would have let himself in without knocking at one point, but this was _different_. This wasn't searching for lost pack members or invading to demand answers. This was _civil_. This was... fragile, in its own way.

            When Derek drew open the door, Stiles could immediately smell the anxiety and he was sure he reeked of it as well. They both stood awkwardly for a moment, looking at one another without quite looking at one another, until Derek stepped aside to let him in. The scent of Stiles' blood lingered as he entered, coppery and stale.

            "How are you feeling?" Derek asked, collecting books from the couch so that Stiles could take their place.

            "I'm not a feral alpha werewolf with anger issues and no control anymore," Stiles remarked, watching. "So that's a plus."

            "Deaton cleansed the spark," Derek said, setting the books on a cabinet. "If you want it back, it won't-"

            "No," Stiles said quickly. "I don't- look, that's kind of why I'm here. I need to talk to you."

            "I'm listening," Derek said, taking a seat when Stiles didn't.

            Stiles fidgeted, picking at one hand nervously with the other. Then he took a deep breath, and said: "I don't want the spark back. I don't want to be your alpha. I don't want to feel weird around Scott, either."

            Slowly, Derek nodded. "So you'll be his beta?"

            A small, frustrated noise escaped Stiles before he plopped down heavily on the far side of the couch. "I talked about that with Scott and... that would be weird, too, since I can't-" He choked on the words: since he couldn't be Scott's emissary any longer. They had tried, of course they had tried, but Stiles couldn't even manipulate the mountain ash anymore. Whatever spark he'd had, it had been eaten up in his metamorphosis between species.

            "So what do you want to do?" Derek asked. Stiles didn't miss the note of hope in his tone, and it only served to cement his decision.

            "We thought - well, I thought - that I could be _your_ beta." He fidgeted, and rushed to continue with: "As long as you don't try to keep me away from Scott, I think it would be really good."

            "Stiles-" Derek began, and it sounded exactly like the protest Stiles had been expecting.

            "I know you were leaving, but you don't have to go, Derek," Stiles interrupted, determined to use every argument he'd come up with in the past few days to convince Derek to stay in Beacon Hills. Scott was right- he was still here, and Stiles wanted to keep it that way. "You could have a pack here." He popped back to his feet and paced in front of the couch once, unable to sit still.

            "Stiles," Derek tried again.

            "I know," Stiles said quickly. "I know you want to leave because there's so many bad memories here, but we've all got bad memories here, and running away from them won't make them go away, but maybe making better memories here will help." He rounded on Derek, who had gotten to his feet as well, who looked like he was about to physically stop Stiles from talking.

            "Stiles, I-" Derek said.

            Backing up a foot to get more room for arguing with whatever excuse Derek was going to try to give him, Stiles continued. "And you kind of owe me anyway, since you were planning on leaving and I was on my way to stop you when I hit Deucalion, so the responsible thing to do would be to stay and-"

            "Stiles!" Derek finally interrupted, somehow perfectly blending exasperation with amusement. Stiles' jaw clacked shut as Derek moved just close enough to be in his personal space. "I'd already decided to stay."

            Tension leeched from Stiles' muscles as he realized what Derek had said. Then he shoved ineffectually at Derek's chest. "You are such a jerk," he groused. "You could have told me before I started- you know, I had at least three more speeches prepared, with reasons why you should stay."

            Derek smiled, and gently reached out to lay a hand on Stiles' shoulder, smoothing it over his skin until it rested over the back of his neck. Stiles relaxed into the touch, letting Derek move him forward until their foreheads rested together, basking in the feeling of _right_ at being close to Derek again.

            "I only ever need one reason to stay," Derek said softly, letting their noses touch.

            "Yeah?" Stiles asked, barely a whisper. He knew the answer, could feel it in every line of Derek's body, but he wanted to hear it, needed to hear Derek say it aloud.

            "Yeah," Derek said, breath warm on Stiles' lips, so close Stiles could feel him smiling. "You."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt was: "Stiles becomes an alpha and decides to give Derek his alpha powers (maybe his spark made him an alpha) after Derek loses his alpha powers saving Cora. Bonuses if Stiles says he doesn't want to be Derek's alpha, he wants Derek to be his, Stiles reacting badly to Scott being an alpha, the twins acting strangely because they recognize Deucalion's alpha spark in Stiles, and Peter being creepy as always."


End file.
